


Into the Blue

by R00bs_Teacup



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fever, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 14:00:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10111187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R00bs_Teacup/pseuds/R00bs_Teacup
Summary: Arthur is feverish, Merlin snuggles him. Gwen isn't in it much tbh, and you can read it as Merthur if you so wish.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Polomonkey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polomonkey/gifts).



Arthur’s asleep when Merlin gets in, spread out in a mess of sprawling limbs on the sofa, head at an odd angle, pillows, blankets, tissues strewn around him. He doesn’t look comfortable. He’s flushed and pale at once, and Merlin can see him sweating. As he pauses to watch, Arthur makes a teeth-together moaning noise and presses his cheek into his pillow, hand twitching. 

“Uh oh,” Merlin mutters, hurrying to kneel beside the sofa. “Wake up, honey. You’re having another nightmare.”

Arthur makes some small distressed noises and doesn’t wake, so Merlin rubs his chest, tucking the blankets that have come off back around him, and rests a hand against Arthur’s cheek. Arthur whimpers, turning into the touch. Merlin sighs and tries telling him to wake up again, and Arthur’s eyes open, glassy and red, spilling tears against Merlin’s fingers. Arthur gasps, and his eyes go wide, and he reaches out to touch Merlin’s cheek. 

“So blue,” Arthur whispers, voice a thready croak still. 

“My cheek?” Merlin asks, smiling. “How are you feeling?”

“Blue,” Arthur says, trying to poke Merlin in the eye. 

“Oh, my eyes. Right, that’s logical,” Merlin says. 

“You’re lovely,” Arthur breathes, sounding astounded.

Merlin smiles, and takes Arthur’s hand, giving it a pat. Arthur coughs, turning on his side and pulling his knees up, displacing the blankets. Merlin sets them to rights, and Arthur takes the opportunity of Merlin being close to wrap arms around his shoulders and tug him down for a weird cuddle. 

“Mm. Bunny,” Arthur mutters. 

“Let me go,” Merlin says, laughing. “If you want to snuggle, let me help. This is, oof! Uncomfy! Arthur!”

Arthur has tugged Merlin closer, yanking him against the sofa, arm strangling around his neck. Merlin manages to untangle himself, and Arthur pouts at him, then his lips tremble and he snuffles, turning his cheek into the pillow and rubbing, tears tumbling over his cheeks again. He’s been weepy and miserable all week, and all it takes is one tiny thing and he’s off crying. Merlin seems spectacularly good at setting him off. Arthur sick is often weepy, and Arthur with the flu and a raging fever is worse than ever. Merlin gives up on the idea of getting food or tea or anything, and gets up to lay himself in the tiny bit of sofa that’s not occupied by Arthur, blankets, pillows, or the army of stuffed toys that are littered between the cushions. Arthur sighs and coughs and coughs and sighs and wriggles himself happily into Merlin’s arms, then groans loudly and coughs. 

“I ache,” Arthur grumbles, sounding a little more lucid. 

“You’re feverish,” Merlin says, stroking Arthur’s hair, his shoulders, his back, tucking the blankets in fussily around him. “How are you feeling, otherwise? Better than this morning?”

“No,” Arthur whines. “Not better. I’ll never get better, Merls. I’ve been sick for sooo loooong.”

“You’ve been sick since Wednesday. It is now Friday,” Merlin says, rolling his eyes. “Stop being dramatic and tell me how you feel.”

“Fine,” Arthur says, and Merlin can’t help laughing because Arthur sounds exactly like Melman the giraffe from Madagascar, which they watched last night. Well, Arthur fell asleep to it. “Don’t laugh at me, I’m sick. My head hurts, and I ache all over, and my back hurts, and my stomach aches, and my thighs ache like I’ve been running, and my sinuses are so clogged, and I have a terrible cough.”

“You have flu. You’ll feel like shit, but you’re ok,” Merlin soothes, as Arthur shifts restlessly against him, voice rising anxiously. “You’re ok, baby. I’ll look after you. You probably need to drink something, though.”

“Probably,” Arthur says, sounding tired about it, pressing his face into Merlin’s chest with a rough cough, which goes on a bit. Merlin rubs his back and tuts and soothes. “I do feel worse than this morning. My throat’s really sore from coughing now, too.”

“Let me get up and make you some lemon and honey?” 

“No.”

Merlin sighs, but stays. Gwen will be home soon, and she can either take over cuddling duties, or make something hot to drink. For now, Merlin fishes one of the bottles of water he left Arthur with, from between the cushions. Arthur protests, but lets Merlin sit them up a bit and takes a few disgruntled sips before flopping limply against Merlin, shivering hard. Merlin wraps his blankets tighter and hums a random tune. Arthur coughs, and it does sound grating against his throat, dry and chesty and unpleasant. Merlin rubs his back. The front door opens and they listen to Gwen tiptoeing around. She comes to peek into the livingroom and straightens up to glare at Merlin, seeing Arthur awake. Merlin sticks his tongue out. Arthur looks at Gwen with big, damp eyes. 

“Gwen,” he croaks, struggling to sit more and holding his arms up, like a tired toddler who expects to be lifted and carried to bed. 

Gwen comes and gives him a cuddle, then heads for the kitchen. She turns in the doorway and gives them a stern look, pointing them toward the bedroom, then vanishes. 

“She’s right. Bedtime,” Merlin says. 

“She didn’t even say hello,” Arthur says, wilting against Merlin with a sad snuffle. 

“I did!” Gwen calls. “With a hug! I’m making you soup and lemon and honey, go get into bed with Merlin so you can eat comfortably and then go right to sleep!”

“She’s bossy,” Arthur whispers, beaming happily about it. 

Merlin chivvies him up and to the bedroom. They have to pause for a while, for Arthur to load Merlin’s arms with stuffed toys, then realises that if Merlin’s arms are full, he can’t wrap one around Arthur’s waist.There are some snuffly tears while Arthur picks out the important stuffies, then insinuates himself against Merlin’s side, leaning heavily, eyes drooping. Merlin guides him through and tucks him in with the duvet, against a huge pile of pillows. He’d insisted on the sofa this morning, claiming bed was boring, but he sinks into the mattress with a cough and weak kind of exhausted sound, and Merlin thinks tomorrow and Sunday will be bed days. If Arthur’s still bad on Monday, maybe he or Gwen can skip work and keep him in bed again.


End file.
